Dead Man's Last Wish
by frenchampora
Summary: John finally writes about how he feels. Post-fall. Not pairing-y, but Johnlock feels. One-shot. Rated T for single swear word.


I wanted to play around with format a bit on this, I hope it comes out looking alright.

This is an incredibly short one-shot I wrote up recently for the feels. Hope you enjoy, reviews are very welcome, especially as this is my first time posting on fanfiction!

* * *

Dead Man's Last Wish

_I've always thought of writing as a sort of way to escape the shitty surroundings you're stuck in. You can transport yourself into a fantasy land you've created, where everything is butterflies and rainbows and you don't have a care in the world._  
_I guess it works, to a point. For some people, at least. But in the end, real life always comes back to you, doesn't it? A fleeting escape isn't really much of an escape at all._  
_Still, we write our extraordinary stories where we're a king or queen, or a knight, maybe, or some unlikely protagonist who saves the day and gets everything they every want in their "happy ever after" ending. This idea of "happy ever after" spawns from our own disappointments with ourselves, our own longings for an outcome that will really always be impossible, because let's face it: there's no such thing as "happy ever after". We're trained from a young age to long for our "happy ever after" endings, to believe that they're true because the princes and princesses in the movies all got them, so why can't we?_  
_Take it from me, though— "happy ever after" does not exist._  
_But, you see, while "happy ever after" will never happen, it's my belief that we can get close. We can be happy and content in our lives. And yes, many people never are, which is really sad. But maybe we should all start by pursing the things we really want in our lives, and then, once we find them, we can get closer and closer to the ideal "happy ever after" of our lives._  
_I guess what I'm trying to say is that longing too much for our "happy ever after"s without actually taking action to pursue happiness in life is what causes the downfall of many people. We want it all but it's so far away and we just don't know how to get there. We look back on our tiny lives and realize that we've done so little in this world that holds endless possibilities, and we just don't know where to go from where we are now. We get stuck in "there's so much I want to do" and ask ourselves how we can possibly do all of these things instead of trying to work on getting these things done. I guess that's our real downfall. Maybe that's the cause of our unhappiness. We don't take action, we sit and think about how hard it's going to be to take action instead. We hold on to our desires and attachments to things instead of letting them go and moving on to things that will really make us happy._  
_I'm getting sidetracked. This isn't supposed to be about my thoughts on writing about idealistic scenarios._  
_I had a life close to "happy ever after" once. Sure, it was tedious, and really quite dangerous, but it was full of people I could never imagine living without. Well, one person especially. But see, all of that changed because that person was ripped out of my life long before I could ever fathom how I'd live without him._  
_That's how I know all of this._  
_When I revisited my therapist, it was more of the same, I suppose. More of the "writing about it" deal all over again. I mean, writing a blog about the life of a flatmate is entirely different from writing about your feelings._  
_So, of course, I disregarded it. Until now, that is. A good 40 years later. I wonder if she'd be happy that I'm finally following her advice._  
_So there you are. My first entry, and, I suppose, my last._  
_This is my final attempt to let go._  
_Let go of Sherlock, and all that ever happened while I was with him._  
_Just let go._

_Are _  
_ you _  
_ alive, _  
_ Sherlock_

Before he was able to finish his final question mark on the paper, the hospital bed's sheets were suddenly burdened with the weight of the man's hand, his eyes closing as the monitor beeping beside him began to produce a steady tone.

John Watson was dead.

If one listened closely, they might have been able to hear somber violin music from far, far away.

Perhaps it was just an echo of a dead man's last wish.


End file.
